tuesday shrines
by MYZ-chan
Summary: The earthquake that never happened.  Genkaku, Nagi, and a few moments of truth and hypocrisy.


It's always the Tuesdays.

Genkaku can always see him at the front of the shrine, breath fogging in the air. He always watches his shoulders, hunched over from the cold and cheeks nestling into his wool scarf. Dark locks paint his ears a light, dusty pink, Genkaku notices, and his nose is tipped with a slight rose tinge from the cold. It's never really a smile he wears on his lips, but a faint sort-of-maybe smile, ambiguous, nebulous like the gray clouds above their heads.

It's always the Tuesdays when he walks over and just stands there in front of the shrine. Genkaku knows he isn't the smartest of people, knows that at twenty-four, twenty-six he should be smarter, but things remain foggy to his eyes, always, always.

He could never read people.

This is the fifty-ninth Tuesday, and he's late. Genkaku waits, slowly freezing in the cold of the winter, sweeping out the dead leaves off the cobblestone walkway. It's weird why he waits, because even he doesn't know why. He never expects anything, tries to drain away all emotion that bleeds and corrupts and makes him a hypocrite and a faithless dog, but this, this just seeped through the cracks.

It's almost thirty minutes in, and Genkaku's about to call it a day because he can feel his hands starting to go numb, when he finally shows up. And he can't help but stare, because it's really him and it's colder than ever out and he's dressed in his normal attire. Brown coat, yellow-green wool scarf, black pants, faint smile through cloudy days. It mystifies Genkaku, and he can't help but just turn away and continue to brush away the leaves into the dirt.

"Aren't you cold?"

He starts at first, but then turns to find the man staring at him, a faintly concerned look on his face. "I mean," the man continues on, but Genkaku can't really hear the words, just listens to the sound, the fluidity of it all, "it _is_ a bit under forty. Don't you need a jacket?"

It takes him another moment because he's talking to him, he actually said something to him, and it startles him so bad that he almost drops the broom. Or maybe that's because his hands are almost frozen into blocks. "I'll be fine," he finally says, and then, after another, "Thank you for your concern."

"It's only natural," the man says, cocking his head to the side. "You're always out here in that same attire, you know, even in this weather. Won't you catch a cold?"

"It's my job." It's getting easier to talk, and Genkaku finds himself falling into the same pattern as before, blank words and careful planning. Can't they be saved? he remembers, the priest staring at him with that narrowed, accusing stare. Is there no way to give them salvation?

"Your job doesn't give you an excuse slip for colds, does it?" And suddenly, the man is in front of him, black locks over his face and Genkaku suddenly notices how bright his eyes are, such bright blue eyes tinted violet. His hands are on Genkaku's, so warm they send jolts down his spine and into his toes. "See how cold your hands are? You should go inside. The walk looks fine. Trust me."

He smiles, and Genkaku feels something boil inside of him, deep. "I'm Nagi," says the man, and suddenly he has a name, a name that makes him seem different, glow differently with the tips of his ears tinted pink and eyes bright as coals. "Kengamine Nagi. What's your name?"

It takes another moment for him to answer because those hands are sending prickles through his skin and it's hard to think with those eyes burning into his own, burning blue-violet and sending ticks down his spine. "Genkaku," he finally says. "Azuma Genkaku." And he clenches the broom harder because Nagi is just a tad shorter than him and his smile is so bright it hurts.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Azuma," Nagi says matter-of-factly, giving another off-handed smile. "I'm sorry I've never asked before. I just always thought you were too busy."

Just when he's about to respond, opening mouth and words carefully picked -

"Oi, Genkaku!"

And he jolts again, turning. Ekishin, standing there, lean and mean, grinning wolf teeth. "The priest wants you," rasps the wolf, jolting his thumb over his shoulder. "Better not waste time, eh?"

"That would be my fault," says Nagi, laughing slightly. It's a warm sort of voice, and it makes the boiling louder in Genkaku's gut. No, no, don't go - "I'll be going, then." No, the priest doesn't want me, it's them, them with their razor sharp teeth and mean, cruel, lost -

When he takes his hands of his, the cold immediately seeps back in, harsh and painful and sharp. "I'll see you later then?"

He doesn't even have time to reply because Ekishin makes another gesture that means business, means 'he's not patient today', so he just nods and carefully turns his lips up at the corners before turning and leaving, leaving the light behind in the cold.

But even when he's staring up at the ceiling as they work on him, laughing and pushing and breaking apart his insides, he thinks of him, him with his dark locks and bright eyes and he thinks and maybe, maybe the next Tuesday he'll talk to him again. Man with the bright eyes and dark locks and burning skin filled with light.

Nagi.

Kengamine Nagi.

And when he sees that smile again, fresh in his mind with those blue-violet eyes, the boiling in his gut starts all over again.

* * *

><p>The next time he comes over, it's an immediate smile that flickers onto his face, the nebulous clouds dispersing from his face and only clinging to the edges of his smile and his bright, bright eyes. "Hello, Mr. Azuma."<p>

"Hello," Genkaku replies, then a moment's pause later, "Mr. Kengamine."

"Please, call me Nagi," laughs (Nagi, Nagi) before glancing back at the small shrine in the front. "You always take such good care of this place, don't you? I don't see anyone else taking care of it."

It's not such a big deal, really, and Genkaku can't really see why Nagi seems impressed at all, but he nods his head anyways. "It's just my job."

"Well, you certainly do a good job of it." Nagi smiles again, small smile with bright, bright corners, and the boiling rises again in the pit of Genkaku's belly. "It's the small things to be appreciated, you know? A bit of sun in the world." He chuckles, and the boiling rises, sharp and almost to the brim. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

A little, is what Genkaku wants to say, but instead what comes out is "There's no shame in that."

"It would depend on the person, I suppose." Nagi smiles again, and it's dangerous, it's dangerous because Genkaku can only see that smile and hear the roaring in his ears and not know, his brain stopping, not know how to respond to this man.

(and in his brain he can hear the jeering, Goan and Ekishin laughing and laughing and stopping everything in his body, his blood, his brain, his ears, his eyes, until all he can see is the soft light emitting from this man named Nagi and the boiling is loud, loud and ferocious and scary - )

"Mr. Azuma?" And he's peering at him now, an owl with the widest of eyes and curious expression. "Are you alright? You look pale."

"I'm fine," he says, and then looks away because that's a lie and he hates lying. It's not right, it's not pure. "Why do you come here? Every Tuesday." His words are halting and slippery and Genkaku is afraid he will drown, drown in his wrong words and lies and no, no, he has no hate, he is right and he has no hate. He has no hate.

The owl is still, Nagi is still with his head cocked to the side in that curious look of his. "Why?" he echoes softly, and then a smile flickers back onto his face. But Genkaku can tell, can tell it's the wrong kind of smile. The light is dimmer. Darker. "I suppose…" Nagi trails off here, looking up at the sky with that same dark smile. "I don't know," he finally says, sighing, the gust of wind echoing through his chest. "I don't know."

There is an underlying sentimentality beneath his pretty words that Genkaku can sense means that he does know, but Genkaku knows not to push it. He knows that much, at least. He's a liar, owl, but the best kind of liar. The worst kind of hypocrite.

"Do you want to walk?"

It's sudden and all sorts of unexpected, but Genkaku responds almost automatically. "If you want."

When Nagi smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling with wisdom and pain, the worst kind of pain, Genkaku feels the boil run up, claw its way into his throat and scream steam and bubbles into his nose. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>Another one to never be continued. I have a commitment problem, I swear. But yes, this is if the earthquake had never happened, and if the two had gone on living the way they were. I tried to portray Genkaku as he was before the earthquake, but with a touch of the madness and twisted logic he gained afterwards. Dunno. They may have gotten along if they hadn't been so screwed up afterwards There's actually more to this, but it's the part that never got finished and probably never will be finished.<p>

Man, I miss these two.

Hope you enjoyed reading!


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